“I got up at my usual time,” she answers before cutting herself off with a slight yelp. Stacy’s face abruptly begins to drain of color, our eyes locking in the mirror. “Chloe, what time are you supposed to be at work today?” she asks at the same time I’m whipping around to grab my phone beside my bed.
The face is completely blank—the phone isn’t on!
“Oh my god!” I shriek, “What time is it?”
“It’s almost nine.”
“I’m going to be late!” I yell, tearing off my robe right in front of Stacy and starting to throw on clothes.
I don’t have time to take a shower or prepare. I just have to get some clothes on my back and run out the door.
Morgan clicks her tongue disapprovingly from the doorway. “I’m always telling you to plug your phone in.”
“I did!” I shriek, tugging at the plug.
“The power went off during the storm last night,” Stacy explains. “I bet it tripped your breaker again.”
I want to scream, but I don’t have the time. Pushing past my roommates to the bathroom, I quickly brush my teeth.
“Clo, you have two different shoes on,” Stacy points out, gesturing toward the pumps on my feet.
One is navy and one is black, and neither one goes with the pencil skirt that I’ve chosen. Morgan and Stacy exchange one of their patented looks, reading each other’s minds, then grab me and haul me back into my room.
“I have to hurry!” I cry, frustration mounting.
“Don’t worry, we’ve got this,” Stacy says, grinning at me brightly. “Give us five minutes to get you ready and you’ll be the best dressed secretary Dunn Advertising has ever seen.”
Chapter 5
Donovan
Through the haze of my slumber something beeps in the distance. Rousing me, its intermittent chirping combines with the sound of light chatter and faint chuckles.
I open one eye, wearily looking around.
Sunlight pours in through the open blinds of my windows, cheerfully illuminating the hardwood floor and framed certificates on the wall and the clock beside me that says it’s almost ten in the morning.
I shoot upward, swiping my hand hard against my chin before rubbing at my eyes.
10 AM?
Seriously?
Where did the night go?
Last I recall I was hunched over my financial reports, desperately trying to come up with the extra cash flow to support my nonprofit. Now I look down at the reports, remembering vaguely that I set my head down on my desk and closed my eyes to mull over the calculations.
I must’ve passed out.
It had to be those shots I did with Eric. I never should’ve let him convince me to go out in the first place. I should’ve just stayed here.
“Dammit,” I mutter quietly, pushing back from my desk and climbing slowly to my feet.
Lifting my arms up over my head, I lean one way and then the other, my back and shoulders cracking and slowly loosening though there’s still a painful ache in the back of my neck from where I must’ve been slumped at an odd angle.
Frustrated, I grab the manila folder where I’d been coming up with marketing strategies for the nonprofit and slam it shut. Even though I’d worked until the night sky took on the magenta streaks of sunrise, I hadn't come up with anything useful. I’d wasted the night and now half of the morning.
Why hadn't anyone come to wake me up?
Smoothing hands over my rumpled suit, I storm out of the office and into the waiting hall. The staff, leisurely reclining in their cubicles and chatting instead of working, don’t notice me until the door of my office slams shut. As the mahogany wood of the doorframe shakes, they whirl around toward me with huge eyes.
“You’re here!” squeaks one of the shocked lawyers on my team.
“Where else would I be?” I ask furiously.
The staff goes silent, watching me. A few of them grip their papers to their chests and slowly set down their phones. I notice the critical eye of a few who’ve noticed that my suit is hardly in its typically spotless state.
“We thought that you were out for a meeting or something,” the man answers hesitantly. “Your door isn’t usually shut.”
Unfortunately, that’s true. I rarely shut my office door unless I’m with a client. It’s important to me to have a dialogue with my staff, and if they’re apprehensive to approach me, then it’s a setback for all of us. But it’s not as if I can tell them that I’d passed out in my office because I was trying to save the sinking ship that is my nonprofit.
“I was working on something important!” My face flushes, embarrassed as I catch sight of my reflection.
My hair is sticking up all over the place. It’s obvious that I wasn’t working. I probably still have the imprint of my hand on my cheek.
“Of course, sir,” another one of my staff answers. “Um, your new secretary is here, I’ll send her in to help you—”
“I don’t need help with anything,” I answer, a little too viciously.
The woman blanches, giving a hurried nod as her lips clamp shut. I just spin on my heel, storming back inside my office and slam the door shut again. I know I’m being a complete grouch this morning but my head is aching and my heart is heavy and I am just so disappointed that I didn't have a fantastic epiphany last night about how to save the nonprofit.
The metaphorical clock for the charity is ticking down every second that I stand here doing nothing, and I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to stop it. Every time the phone rings I expect it to be my board of investors saying that they’ve had enough waiting and they’re shutting me down.
My heart throbs deep in my chest, my hand shooting up to press over it. I walk over to the window, leaning against the sill and pressing my forehead to the glass, warmed by the summer sunlight.
It’s a beautiful day, the sky cloudless and dazzlingly blue. There isn’t a trace of the storms from last night. The city looks so appealing that it almost hurts to look at, making me shut my eyes.
I’d chosen this spot for Dunn Advertising because of this view. When you look out, you can see the Brooklyn Bridge overlooking the rippling water. It’s lovely and majestic and usually takes my breath away.
Today, it only makes me more disappointed in myself.
Even with my wealth, I’m not materialistic. I don’t typically care about possessions. Because of that, I’ve had so few things in my life that I’ve truly cherished and this nonprofit is one of them. I can’t let it slip through my fingers.
I won’t.
To admit defeat would be too big of a blow for me to handle.
Soft knuckles rap against the door of my office before it slides open slowly. The sound of heels clicking over the wooden floor draws my eyes over my shoulder.
“Hello, I’m Chloe—” the woman starts to say before sucking in a sharp breath when our eyes meet.
I turn forward again, blankly staring back out through the window. I’m used to women reacting this way to my presence. In fact, the only woman who didn't seem startled by my good looks and charm is the one from last night.
I’d thought of her intermittently while toiling away here at the office last night, trying to pinpoint the exact reason why she wouldn’t even let me buy her in a drink. In the end, I’d settled on the obvious notion that she must just not be into men. There’s no other conceivable reason she wouldn’t be interested in a man like me.